


#134 - Introduction to The Marshall Problem

by miss_nettles_wife



Category: Eerie Indiana, Eerie Indiana: The Other Dimension
Genre: Crossover, Guns, M/M, Monsters, evidence locker, possible future dash x/mitchell taylor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 21:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12117309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_nettles_wife/pseuds/miss_nettles_wife
Summary: #134 was the first time Mitchell was forced to take drastic action. It was also the first time he met that weird kid with grey hair, the first time he ever broke his nose, and the first time he ever ran for his life in an abandoned refinery on the edge of town in the middle of the night.





	#134 - Introduction to The Marshall Problem

**Author's Note:**

> Im always gonna be salty that we didn't get a cheap knock off Dash X in EI: TOD, so I /made my own/. I know people tend to be kinda hostile to EI: TOD but I need that Mitchell Taylor angst in my life lmao.

_Mitchell  –_  
  
 _THINGS I WISH I TOLD YOU LAST TIME #134_  
 _The universe is bigger than any of us have the capability to imagine. Something so big is home to trillions upon trillions of people. You’re going to meet plenty of them. Some of them from Eerie, some from other Eeries, and some from places entirely different. All of these people are going to help you understand yourself and your place in this big ol’ universe._  
  
 _You’re also going to meet a lot of people who need saving. And sometimes, you can. You’ll make the right choice at just the right time for someone to live to see another day, another lifetime. But some you can’t. It’s sad, but it’s life. You’re going to meet people who need saving who won’t let you, and it’ll hurt just as much to know that no matter how hard you try, there’s nothing you can do._  
 _But you’ll come out of it stronger and better and carrying their memory for next time._  
 _-    Marshall #1_  
  
…  
“Mitchell.”   
  
Mitchell rolled away and pulled the covers up over his head. It was still too early, surely he couldn’t have to get up for school yet. He was sucked into his dream anyway, he was so invested in whether he and Stanley were going to survive their encounter with Count Duckula that he really wanted to get just a bit more in.   
  
“Mitchell!”   
  
“ Five more minutes.” He mumbled, curling up closer on himself under the blankets. He hasn’t had a good night of sleep in three months,  with all the weirdness (well, more than usual) that had entered his life lately. He just needed a little more sleep and he’d be sweet. Just a few more zees.   
  
“MITCHELL TAYLOR!”  
  
The noise that finally woke him didn’t even really sound human. Mitchell sat bolt upright, gasping for breath as his mind finally snapped into fourth gear. The room was pitch black, only illuminated by the sliver of moon that cast a faint light through his bedroom window. His eyes weren’t adjusted to the darkness and he couldn’t see what it was that was shouting at him because it certainly wasn’t his mother.   
  
He looked around the room, eyes straining. He saw something move near the window. He saw a figure that he couldn’t quite make out, two tiny dots, glowing.   
“Mitchell Taylor.”  It repeated, moving towards him. Hands reached out, long fingers making their way towards him. It moved awkwardly, as though it was walking for the first time in its body.   
  
Rolling over, and operating off of mostly adrenaline,  Mitchell replied by grabbing the baseball bat he’d take to keeping near his bed and holding it in front of him as a warning. Maybe not the most effective weapon, but it was normal enough that no one was going to question why a fourteen-year-old kept a baseball bat in his bedroom. Sooner rather than later he was going to have to go in with a hammer and nails to up the scare factor.    
  
“If you come any closer I will not hesitate to beat you to a pulp!” He said, in a loud whisper, concerned about waking up the rest of his household. Mostly because he did not fancy another noise lecture from his mother, those took up most of breakfast and occasionally included a dreaded television ban.   
  
 The thing put its hands up, its arms seem too long, its fingers had too many joints. At least it seemed a little frightened of him. Mitchell jumped out of his bed, and flicked on the light switch, revealing his visitor.   
  
In the light, he was a lot less frightening.   
In the sense that he didn’t look like some kind of monstrosity from a horror movie.   
He just looked like your regular homicidal maniac. Oversized green jacket, tattered and torn. Shoes are worn through. Brown hair matted and greasy. He was hunched over slightly, and his eyes had a faint glow to them that Mitchell doesn’t and does not want to know the origin of.   
  
“Marshall.” He said, finally. Marshall blinks and then nods. Damn. What happened to him? Marshall should be a normal boy, just older than Mitchell, not this slightly Lovecraftian abomination with way too many finger joints for comfort.   
“Mitchell.” He repeats.   
  
So he isn’t a horror movie monster. Just your average joe homicidal maniac. That makes him feel better. NOT. Mitchell kept the baseball bat out in front of him. Marshall moved his head sideways in such a fashion that could only be described as unnatural.   
  
“What do you want?”   
“I’m here to save your universe.” Marshall declared, “Since I’m you, and you’re me.” Mitchell would disagree with that one, but it seemed like for the moment, he really didn’t have a choice.   
“What do you mean?”  
“My dimension is ruined, Mitchell.” Marshall said, coming closer. Mitchell steps back. “Simon is dead, and my family is gone. But yours doesn’t have to be like this. Come with me.”   
“And why would I do that?” He asked, frowning.   
“Don’t you want to save your universe?”   
“From what?”  He demanded.   
“An alien.”   
“I’ve dealt with aliens before.”   
“Not that kind of alien. Come with me.” Marshall repeated, before leaping out of Mitchell’s second-story bedroom window.   
  
Mitchell stood there in his pajamas for a moment, before grabbing his robe and slippers, and hurrying down the stairs.   
It seemed Creepo Marshall had a plan, because before Mitchell knew it, and probably against his better judgment, he was in the car with him. He smelled kind of like some of the roadkill he and Stanley had been investigating a few days prior. The car was also not from this dimension. Or maybe it was and Creepo Marshall needed to add Grand Theft Auto to list of laws broken tonight, along with breaking and entering, and intimidation. How would he know?   
“Where are we going?”  
“The Old Hitchcock Mill.”  
“Where is that?”  
“Just past the edge of town.”  
“There’s no Hitchcock anything on the edge of town.”  
“And how would you know that?”  
“I’ve lived here all my life, I’ve been everywhere.”  
“Oh. What is on the edge of town?”  
“The old Kubrick Refinery?”  
“Is it old and abandoned?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Haunted?”  
“Number fifty-two on my list of haunted structures in Eerie.”  
“Perfect.”Creepo Marshall said, and stood on the gas, rocketing them down the road at record speed.   
  
They arrived at the refinery, and Mitchell can’t help but feel more uncomfortable than he did before. Everything was a bit wrong and it was making his headache. They stepped into the dank building, Mitchell wishing pretty badly that he’d thought to grab a flashlight and his bat on the way out. Maybe some clothes that were not, in fact, his pajamas. Always a good jumping off point.   
  
The building smells gross, and the air is thick with what was either spirits or fumes. Their footsteps ricocheted off the walls, and their shadows were all but invisible in the dark space. He stuck close to Creepo Marshall, who didn’t seem to be having any trouble seeing in the dark. Mitchell figured that was on account of his weird eyes.   
  
“Just through here.”Creepo Marshall said as they turned a corner. On the ground was a bunch of sheets, and a couple of burnt out candles. Okay so someone was crashing here, that didn’t affect him, surely?   
Then the sheets moved and revealed that it was not in fact sheets, but a heavy black overcoat. The person sleeping there was a boy maybe just older than Mitchell. He looked pretty normal,   his gray hair. Was this the alien that was going to destroy his dimension? He didn’t look it. He looked tired and honestly? A little cute.   
  
“This guy is going to destroy my dimension?” He asked, turning to look at Creepo Marshall. Creepo Marshall isn’t paying any attention to him, and is instead examining the boy. He has tears in his eyes and he’s smiling. Perhaps just a little bit too wide, and with way too many teeth.   
“Isn’t he beautiful?”  
“Uh, I guess so.” Mitchell replied. Marshall smiled, and Mitchell felt sort of bad for calling him a creepo.   
“You wouldn’t know, would you?”  
“Know what?”  
“That he’s going to be the one responsible for everything that goes wrong.”   
“What..Exactly went wrong?” Marshall looked at him, then looked away.  
  
“There are some things that you are better off not knowing.” Mitchell looked away, unable to handle the intense otherworldy-ness of his eyes. “I didn’t always look like this.” Marshall told him, lifting up one hand. His fingers each had five joints that Mitchell could count. It was like he was becoming more of a monster every moment.   
  
“Everything was going well in my dimension. I was happy, I had a good job, I was in love. Until he decided to ruin everything.” He reached out with one long finger to gently touch the boy on the face. The other boy, the one with gray hair, turned away from them. Marshall turned to Mitchell.   
“He needs to die.”  
“What?”  
“He needs to die, so your dimension can be protected.” Mitchell blinked, and tried to understand what exactly he just heard. This creepy abomination was asking him to kill someone.   
“He hasn’t hurt anyone.”  
“Yet!”  
“You don’t know that he will.” Mitchell said, folding his arms tightly. Marshall reached into the pockets of his coat and offered a weapon to Mitchell, who stepped back right away.   
“What the Hell is that!?” He demanded, this time loud enough to wake the sleeping kid. Mitchell doesn’t even really want to know exactly what the kid was thinking. A dude he doesn’t know is arguing about the merits of murder with a man doing his best impersonation of an eldritch abomination. He sat up and scrambled back, grazing the bottom of his shoes on the ground.   
  
“Do it.” Marshall insisted.   
“Marshall, listen, I’m really, really sorry your dimension got fucked up, I am, but no!”  
“You have to!”  
“No, I don’t. Fucking up my lifetime is not going to unfuck yours!”  
“He’s already here, your lifetime is already fucked. I’m offering you a way to unfuck it.” Marshall insisted, holding the weapon closer.  It was some kind of gun, but Mitchell doesn’t recognize it.   
“By committing murder?! I could go to jail!”  
“No you won’t, no one is going to miss him!”  
“I’ll miss me!” The kid exclaimed, eyes darting around crazily.   
“Put that away.” Mitchell said, looking at the weapon, “I’m not going to kill anyone.” He was doing his best to keep calm, but it was very, very hard. “Whatever your gray haired kid did, this one hasn’t, and I won’t punish him for something he hasn’t done.”  
“Then I’ll do it myself.” He said, turning, and using his long fingers to get the gun, clearly made for a normal hand, in place.   
Without thinking, Mitchell shoved him hard and grabbed the kid by the sleeve.   
“Come on!” He shouted, and they both started running. A bullet flew past his head as they ducked into a hallway. Mitchell has never run so fast in his life, and it’s thanks to a small miracle that he is able to keep up with the speedy gray haired kid.   
  
Together, they rounded the corner into a  darker and scarier part of the refinery. Big machines sat silent, the ghosts of beat down workers seemed unsettled at their presence.   
They ran until the only light in the room was coming in through the damaged ceiling, spilling tiny pinpricks onto the wooden floor. Behind them, footsteps clicked on the ground, followed by a weird screaming. The kid suddenly turned a corner. Mitchell missed it and ran face first into a solid wall.   
  
Something in his face cracked. Something whizzed past his face, forcing him up onto his knees and to crawl blindly in the direction that maybe the kid went. Another thing, a bullet, a bullet, his mind coughs up. Something grabbed his arm and yanked him hard into a room, and slammed the door after him.   
Mitchell rolled over onto his back, breathing heavily. It only lasted for a moment, because he had to sit up or risk choking on blood.   
  
“Thank you.” He told the kid, wiping the blood off his face but managing to only smear it more.   
“Don’t get used to it.” He replied, moving over to the corner furthermost away from the door. “I only saved ya because I figure I got a better chance of coming out the other side if I got the creature from Blake Lagoon’s friend with me.”  
“His name is Marshall and If anyone can find us, it’s him.” The kid looked him up and down.   
“This happen to you often?”  
“At least once a week.”  
The kid looked at him sideways, and Mitchell started the long crawl to the safety of the corner, where he titled his head back and looked up. His mind was swimming, but slowly, everything was coming back to him.    
“You got a name?” The kid asked.   
“Mitchell.” He replied, “Taylor. You?” A pause,   
“I wish I knew.” Mitchell looked over at him. “I woke up here, in  Weirdsville Indiana, three months ago. No name, no identity, I dumpster dive for food and I crash where I can.”   
“Weirdsville?”  
“Yeah. Weird. In case ya hadn’t noticed, everything is flipped. Weird people are normal, and those of us even remotely normal are considered weird.”   
“Stanley said something like that once.”  
“Who the Hell is Stanley? Does he want to kill me too?”  
“No, he’s my friend. We’ve been investigating the weirdness around here. You said you woke up here three months ago? ”  
“That mean something to you?”  
“Well…I think so.”  
“Spit it out then.”  
“Well, I started meeting Marshalls three months ago.”  
“The Are You Scared of the Dark reject out there?”   
“Well, yes and no. It’s really complicated.” The kid looked at him, and then looked away. Mitchell didn’t elaborate.   
  
Outside, the door shook.   
“Mitchell!” His voice sounded inhuman and weird. Nothing like what Mitchell remembered Marshall sounding like. “Please open the door.”  
“No!” Not exactly floral language but it’ll do.   
“Please, Mitchell. You don’t understand!”  
“Uh, I think I do. I think you want to kill us!”  
“Not you, just him!”  
“Coulda fooled me!” the Kid (that would have to do for now as a name) yelled, tugging his knees in close like that was going to protect him. Mitchell cried out unintentionally when the whole room shook with the force Marshall hit the door with.   
“Let me in, Mitchell….Let me in….”   
“Why does he want me to die? If I’m gonna, I at least want to know.” The Kid said, grabbing him by the arm with both hands. Mitchell looked at him, and then at the door, which was starting to creak with the applied weight.   
“It’s a long story.”  
  
“Tell me!”  
“I don’t know why, but there’s thousands of displaced Marshall Tellers out there in the universe. And all of them, every one I’ve met at least, want you dead.”  
“What did I do?”  
“I don’t know, I don’t know.”  
“But they all want me dead.”  
“You and every version of you.”   
“And how do you know this?” Mitchell bit his lip. The door creaked again. He reached into the pocket of his dressing gown and offered the letter to The Kid.   
“They’ve been showing up for the last three months, along with a different Marshall every time.”  
“And you took them here?”  
“I didn’t think you were here! I thought this was a universe where you didn’t exist.” Mitchell defended himself, “I’m like…A second-rate Marshall.” He tried to explain, as the door threatened to burst. He only wanted to kill The Kid, but he didn’t seem too concerned about Mitchell as collateral damage. The Kid looked at him again, and then back at the door.   
  
“I didn’t do it “  
“I know that, and so do they, but they’re also dimensionless people who need a reason to keep going. And that reason is…Killing you.”   
“I don’t want to die.” The Kid said, as the door finally gave way.   
“Mitchell…I just want to help you…” Marshall said, moving in. His legs were gone, seemingly replaced by a shadowy mass which crept along the walls near him. Mitchell stood and positioned himself between The Kid and Creepo Marshall.   
“Come on, Man.” He said, “Let this one go, he hasn’t done anything to you.”  
“He will, they always do.”  
“Doesn’t he deserve a chance?  I’m here, I won’t let him ruin anything.” He said, carefully reaching out and wrapping his hands around the gun. Marshall sags slightly.   
  
“I love him.” Marshall said, softly. “And you will too.”  
“All the more reason to let him live.” Mitchell repeated, softly. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”   
“Yes, it does.” Marshall said, lifting Mitchell up with inhuman strength and throwing him against a nearby wall. Mitchell landed with a crash, and was only able to watch as Marshall approached The Kid.   
“You did this to me.” He said, as the darkness started to swallow the floor around him. “You made me into this….This monster. WHY?” He demanded.   
“I didn’t!” The Kid replied,  “I don’t even know you!” The darkness started to crawl up his overcoat and up his chest. “I didn’t do anything to anyone!”  
“But you will.”  He said, as his jaw seemingly unhinged, mouth growing ever bigger, like he was going to eat The Kid. “And I need to make sure you never hurt anyone ever again.” His long fingers had taken hold of The Kid’s face.  He inches ever closer before he stops, and a loud noise echoes through the refinery. Marshall turned.   
  
“Mitchell.” He said, stumbling backward, away from The Kid. Mitchell looked down, and realized he was standing, gun in hand, aiming the weapon at Marshall, who was now bleeding. He collapsed, looking up at Mitchell with massive eyes. “Mitchell.” He repeated.   
“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” He whispered, as Marshall disintegrated in front of their eyes, leaving only his tattered jacket behind. Mitchell looked down at the gun he was still holding, and felt sick to his stomach. He flung it away suddenly, and dropped to his knees.   
  
His head hurt, he was going to be sick.   
He reached out with one hand to pick up the jacket. A polaroid fluttered out onto the ground. The Kid picked it up, and turned it over, while Mitchell tried to take some deep breathes and cool his frazzled nerves. It wasn’t going to help anyone If he passed out or started crying right now, was it? He hadn’t wanted to do that, he had done his best to not have to do that. His best wasn’t good enough.   
  
The Kid sat next to him, after a moment, and offered him the polaroid in silence. Mitchell notices marks on the back of his hands for the first time. A plus, and a minus. Like a human battery, his mind supplies. Mitchell looked down to see Marshall (the right way, not a horrible monster) seated on a white painted wall with Simon and The Kid, all of them look...Happy. Happier than he has ever seen a Marshall to be. He feels like he’s caving in on himself, and he’s tired. He shoved the Polaroid into his pocket and picked up the jacket.   
“Would you like to spend the night at my place?” He asked, looking at The Kid who was equally as shell shocked as he was.   
“Yeah.” He said, after a long pause. “I’ll uh. Go get my things.” Mitchell stood up, and tucked the jacket under his arm.   
“It’s a long walk back to my place.”  He apologized, and walked with him into the room where he’d been sleeping.   
  
…  
  
“All that happened last night?”  Stanley asked, eyes wide as Mitchel tried touching his nose again. Still agonizing.   
“Yup.” He replied, looking over at The Kid, who nodded.   
“Wow.” Stanley said, after a second. Mitchell looked at the book The Kid was holding in his hands. He was looking through all the already categorized Marshalls.    
  
“The influx of Marshalls is getting worse.” Stanley observed, falling onto the couch. “That’s the third one this week.”  
“And it’s only Wednesday.” Mitchell groaned. The Kid looked over at him, and set the book down on the desk.   
“Listen, thanks for saving my ass and whatever, but I’m gonna get the Hell outta dodge.” He said, reaching onto the table for his bag.   
“You could.” Stanley said, sitting up. “But you could also stay here, remember; we’re the only other people who know about your…Marshall problem.”  
“He didn’t know I was here until last night.”  
“More will come.” Mitchell pointed out. “You’d be better off with someone on your side. Someone who knows Marshall Teller.” The Kid looked at him, and then sighed.   
“Alright. Fine.” He sighed, and put his bag down. The polaroid is shifted by the movement and falls off the table and into Mitchell’s lap. He picked it up, and slipped it into the fresh sleeve made up for Marshall #134.  His hands are still shaking.   
  
_…_  
 _Entry – Item #64, Green Coat._  
  
 _This week has had more weird packed into it than a usual month. I think that the dissolution of the universes previously inhabited by the Marshall’s coming into mine has upped the weird factor around here by at least 40%. My best guess as to why Marshall #134 turned out the way he did was due to absorbing some of the energy previously held by his universe, making him well. Weird._  
 _Overall, I don’t think he was bad, just distraught. I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same thing in his shoes. I don’t know if defending the kid with gray hair was the right choice, after all, he could well be the dimension killing monster he’s been painted as, but then and there? I didn’t see it._  
  
 _I can only hope this doesn’t come back to bite me._


End file.
